Rogue | outer banks

Flashback 5

The rhythmic scrolling of my fingers over the screen provided a temporary escape, a distraction from the complexities of life. The familiar buzz and glow of my phone offered a brief respite, but reality crashed back in when Topper's footsteps disrupted the sanctuary of my thoughts.

"Hey Top!" I greeted him, my eyes momentarily lifting from the screen.

The exchange of pleasantries, however, was met with a response far from the usual. "Hey Top?" he echoed, his tone dripping with frustration. "Hey fucking Top?"

The abrupt shift in his demeanor left me momentarily frozen. As I observed Topper's stern expression, a torrent of thoughts surged through my mind.

What had triggered this sudden outburst? Was it the time I spent with the Pogues and Rafe? Or was there something else, something deeper, gnawing at him?

I locked my phone, placing it on the table with a carefully calculated nonchalance, attempting to mask the unease building within me. "What's wrong with you?" I questioned.

But Topper's clenched jaw and palpable anger suggested that this was far from a casual inquiry. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" His words were sharp, cutting through the air, and I felt an immediate surge of defensiveness. "Are you high right now?! Is it worth even having a fucking conversation with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I retorted, scoffing at the notion that my actions were under scrutiny. Folding my arms defensively, I stood my ground, challenging him with a gaze that dared him to question further.

"You don't?" Topper's tone carried a scoff of disbelief, and I found myself shaking my head in response.

Denial became my shield, a flimsy defense against the mounting accusations. The tension escalated, each step he took toward me resonating with a palpable frustration that I couldn't fully comprehend.

"Are you kidding me right now?!" Topper's voice held a mix of annoyance and concern, his proximity making the gravity of the situation impossible to ignore. "You think I don't know about your little drug escapades?"

"Oh, please," I unfolded my arms, rolling my eyes to dismiss the gravity of his concern. The sense of invincibility that accompanied the rebellion clashed with the reality of my brother's worry, leaving me torn between two conflicting worlds. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I won't do it again?" The words hung in the air, a rhetorical challenge, an unspoken acknowledgment that remorse was a currency I couldn't afford.

"You're my little sister," Topper began, a poignant reminder of the responsibilities he believed he bore. "I'm supposed to keep you safe from things like this."

"Boo hoo," I retorted, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Sorry to inform you, but you can't," I dismissed his concern. "You deal with your shit, I'll deal with mine!" The defiance in my voice carried the weight of my frustration and the rebellion that had become a shield.

Topper's next words cut through my armor, striking a nerve I hadn't expected. "What would Mum and Dad say, huh?" he asked through gritted teeth.

The mention of our parents cast a sudden shadow over the room, silencing my bravado for a moment. My gaze wavered, and a surge of guilt mixed with sorrow hit me. The memory of our parents, the ones who had been the pillars of our lives, intensified the gravity of the situation. I felt a lump form in my throat, and a momentary vulnerability seeped through.

But I quickly shook off the sentiment, replacing it with a defensive front. "They're not here, are they?" I shot back, attempting to regain control of the narrative. "So, stop playing the parental role, Topper. I can take care of myself." The words tasted bitter as they left my lips, a mixture of defiance and a hidden acknowledgment of the void our parents had left behind.